


Rot

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Series: FFI Headcanon [3]
Category: Final Fantasy I
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warriors of Light reach Melmond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FireEye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/gifts).



> For Moogle Fluff 2010. Contains some nods to the old U.S. NES release, which will be nostalgic to some and annoying for others. Sorry.

The first step off the ship hits Clef like a giant's club. He can _feel_ the earth's suffering -- it burns, eats away at him from the inside; he swallows, tasting something rancid. He's lightheaded for one feverish moment, but then pulled back with a strong, steady hand.

"You've gotten your sea-legs," Almya acknowledges, holding him upright. "Now you have to learn to switch one for the other."

"Aurrgh," is all Clef manages, pitching forward even as he fights the urge to vomit.

"Whoa!" Ulren, from somewhere behind them, followed presently by Gaul's "Heavens, is he all right?"

"Easy, easy!" Almya acts as a pillar, giving him a center even as the rest of the world threatens to spin away.

Clef presses his cheek against Alyma's breastplate. The cool silver is a welcome balm for the dry heat. Someone removes his hat and uses the pointed brim to fan him. A pleasant tingle sprinkles up his spine; Ulren has cast Poisona, though it is without effect.

"Is he bewitched?" Almya wants to know. She sounds distant...

"Perhaps one of them can tell us," Gaul suggests.

Almya spins around -- not a course of action Clef would have chosen, but her grip is strong and he has little say in the matter. "Damnable ogres. Ulren!"

"Melmond is just ahead!" the white mage protests. "If something's wrong with Clef, we should press on."

"Would that we could!" Gaul is shouting, and Clef can tell the monk has gone to strike first.

"Look at them," Almya agrees. Clef wishes he could, actually. He should be raining lightning down upon them, not clinging to Almya should his knees fail him. "They'll follow us into Melmond and that will be the end of it. Let's end this here!"

He feels Ulren take him, but once within the white mage's embrace, he swoons.

***

"Gaul, my friend!" Almya calls, battle-axe at the ready. "An orge each?"

Even tall, wiry Gaul looks like a boy compared to the hulking ogres that loom before them. He glances back at her. "Fair enough. Watch my back, though, would you?"

Her mouth quirks into a smile. "Always." She won't need to, though; she can tell by the way he rushes at his enemy.

Ogres are strong, but stupid. Almya runs towards hers with her axe dragging upon the ground. The scraping sound and sparks generated are enough to distract the beast until she feints to the right, lifting and spinning and striking true.

Another thing about ogres, she smirks to herself: once they fall, they're _down._ A few more methodical hacks and her ogre regrets challenging the Light Warriors. When Almya shoulders her axe, she finds Gaul standing atop his own felled ogre. "A nice welcome to a new land, hm?"

Gaul throws his head back and laughs. "You are either a warrior or a fool, I can never decide! Perhaps both."

"Perhaps," she agrees, and looks to their magi. "Fiends be damned," she curses. "Clef!" She leaves whatever spoils lie with the ogres, and Gaul follows suit.

The red mage is cradled in Ulren's lap, face ashen and pained. Almya exchanges looks with Gaul. "Do you know what ails him?" the monk asks.

Ulren brushes wisps of blond hair from Clef's brow and then presses his palm against it. "I can feel _something_," he says after a moment, "but no matter what I try, I cannot sense what it is, and nothing I've cast has had any effect." He levels a look at Almya. "I suggest the inn at Melmond. Perhaps there is something I can procure from the local Item Shop..."

"Melmond, then," Gaul says. He takes the red mage, carrying him effortlessly. Almya fetches Clef's hat for him, and debates whether or not she ought to peck through the ogres's corpses for bounty before joining her party.

Ulren stands, habitually brushing dirt from his white robes. Then, as though he has just realized where he is, the white mage turns to Almya, aghast. "What has happened to this land?"

She noticed the barren landscape, but only in this moment of calm does Almya take note of how wide the blight stretches. "Fiends be damned," she breathes. "The earth rots!"

***

When Gaul returns to the Melmond Inn, he finds a fretful Ulren tending to Clef. "This place doesn't even have an Item Shop," he forestalls the white mage with raised hands. "And the Clinic has been gutted. I'm sorry," he offers emphatically, looking at Clef. "Has there been any change?"

"None," Ulren snaps, as he is wont when rendered powerless. "He's taken to some curse not a moment after we arrived, and magic cannot reach him!" The white mage wrings a washcloth within an inch of its life. "The witch Matoya spoke of special herbs. Perhaps she would be able to supply us with something," he mutters to himself, replacing the damp cloth across Clef's forehead.

"Matoya is days back east of here," Gaul reminds him gently. "He--"

"Seven Hells, Gaul, what would you have us do? Leave him to this while we stumble blindly towards whatever awaits in the marshlands?"

Gaul does not anger easily, but he does take offense. "Surely not, mage!" In three strides he is across the room, towering over Ulren's chair. "The four of us set on together and, Heavens willing, will keep on together -- but do you think Clef would want us fussing over him while the ORBs grow darker still?"

His question hangs in the air. Ulren's anger melts into realization. Suddenly he's jumping out of his chair, head narrowly missing Gaul's chin.

"The ORBs!" Even as he says it, Ulren is shoving past Gaul and making way for their packs.

"You've figured something?" Gaul wonders, craning his neck to follow the mage's movements.

Ulren burrows into Clef's pack and emerges with a perfect black ORB. Gaul's breath catches. They all have one, all just _have one_, but they don't -- they don't just _look at them_ or _touch them._

The white mage carries it with both hands, almost gingerly, even though the artifacts are nigh-indestructible and get tossed around in their packs all day long. "The earth's rot," Ulten says by way of explanation. "It's worst in Melmond, right?"

"That's what they say," Almya affirms, picking that moment to appear in the doorway to their chambers. She looks somewhat smaller without her heavy armor, but no less imposing as she leans one impressive arm against the doorframe. The warrior touches the thick auburn braid hung over one shoulder and surveys the room, gaze obviously lingering on the ORB. "Moreover, the townsfolk claim the destruction here is the work of some sort of vampire."

Two things happen. First, the ORB flashes, except that it very clearly _doesn't_, and Gaul has no idea what that is even supposed to mean. Second, Clef jerks upright with a half-choked gasp.

"Clef," Ulren gasps, frozen with the ORB.

"Heavens, man," Gaul manages, somewhere between relieved and stunned. "Are you all right?"

The red mage is staring at Ulren -- no, at the ORB -- with both hands entangled in the blankets bunched up at his bare waist. They give him a few moments to gather his bearings, but when he still doesn't speak, Ulren ventures, "Do you want your ORB?"

The question shocks Clef out of his reverie. "Ulren," he blinks, "I..." a shake of the head, "I understand." This to the ORB for which he reaches, and holds close with both hands. "The source of the earth's rot is very close."

"The vampire lord in the Cavern of Earth?" Almya asks.

"Must be." Clef stares at the elemental crystal in his lap. "So," he muses, melancholic, "mine is the ORB of Earth."

Gaul looks closely at the red mage, finding that his skin has regained some color already. "Then your collapse... an effect of the rot?" The other blond nods, gaze still trained on his ORB. "Think, friends," Gaul looks to Ulren and Almya, "not yet have we seen such an interference by the ORBs, and the blight that plagues this land is undoubtedly the worst of the lot."

Ulren sits on the edge of Clef's bed and reaches out to touch the ORB of Earth. "The last pull I felt from my ORB," he says quietly, "was when I first drew it from the well at the Clinic."

Gaul nods, recalling his own call to arms: an uncontrollable urge to break down one of his monastery's walls and obtain the treasure behind it.

"So this vampire," Clef says, "may be the fiend that must fall to restore this ORB. After all these weeks," he looks up at his allies, "we could be close to a piece of our journey's purpose."

"Then," Almya proposes, "to the Earth Cavern?" Gaul suppresses a grin; there isn't an ounce of hesitation in the warrior's body, ever.

"At first light," Ulren corrects her. "If our suspicions are sound, this won't be the country hike our journey has been so far. I want to see what the white wizard here can teach me. And you should rest," he adds, taking Clef's ORB back.

The red wizard surrenders it, but protests, "I'll rest in a while. An hour!" he promises at Ulren's expression. "I want to go with you, and to see the Black Magic Shop."

"All right," the white mage concedes, though he still looks displeased.

"I'll stay here," Gaul offers, knowing Almya wants to see what new weapons are to be found in Melmond. "Dinner in the common room later?"

"Splendid!" Almya waves, already heading out the door. "I'm famished."

"She's _always_ hungry," Ulren points out, helping Clef to stand despite the red mage's best assurances.

"We could all use a good meal," Clef replies, voice muffled as he pulls on his shirt. He goes through the trouble of donning his cape and hat -- probably so the wizards will give him the time of day.

"What will we do for food?" Ulren wonders as the magi head out. "Melmond produce doesn't look promising, to say the least..."

When he's alone, Gaul sits on one of the beds to meditate. One breath, two breaths...

Deeper... calmer...

Something inside him twists. It _hurts._

He snaps back to himself, opening his eyes and beholding the ORB on top of Clef's belongings.

Gaul inhales once, shakily.

"Soon," he promises. "Very soon."

But he goes to put it away because he can no longer bear its darkness.

 

~end.


End file.
